


Crime-ception

by HappySeaNinja



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Inception (2010)
Genre: An Excuse to get Arthur Eames and Spencer in the same room, Attempted Kidnapping, F/M, M/M, Parody, Profiling, Psychological Torture, Tea, Torture, Violence, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappySeaNinja/pseuds/HappySeaNinja
Summary: The BAU and Arthur and Eames find themselves after the same serial killer. Will they work together, or just get in one another's way?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is something I came up with awhile ago, and I wanted something light and humourous to write as a break from my other fic which is all the angst. I also wanted an excuse to get Arthur, Eames and Spencer Reid in a room together. This is a parody. I've not seen Criminal Minds in years (only up to Season 7) so everything I'm basing this on is after the events of Season 7. Arthur and Eames are in an established relationship in this.
> 
> I hope you like it, and I apologise for any grammar/spelling mistakes.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds or Inception.

“Remind me, again, how we got into this?” Eames asks as he swerves at a particularly nasty junction in a car which, frankly, his driving instructor would be ashamed to see him drive in. Even if that manoeuvre was a graceful as fuck piece of driving. “Stop that,” Arthur says, before leaning over the passenger seat to fire a gun through the smashed back window. The sound is deafening, but the imminent threat of getting shot at makes it tolerable.

“Stop what?” Eames calls back.

“What?” Arthur yells, the gun having deafened him.

“Stop. What?” Eames mouths slowly, turning his face from the road for a fraction of a second.

“Con-gra-tu-la-ting Your-Self. They’re. Still. Shooting. Us.” Arthur mouths back. Eames gives a smirk, turns a hard right to avoid a lamppost, and hits the gas pedal. When he regains his balance, Arthur resumes firing.

They lose them in the carpark of a football stadium, filing out with all the other fans onto the street. They make their way back to the abandoned apartment complex they’ve been staying, the heat beats down on the backs of their necks, they’re sweaty and bloody. “Well, we made it!” Eames says optimistically as they step into the shaded, derelict apartment where they’d been staying for the past week.

“Only just,” Arthur says grumpily, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

“How did we get into this again?”

“You owed Marchbrook a favour for him breaking you out of that prison on Vladivostok.”

“… Oh yeah. Why did you come along?”

“You’d be dead right now if I wasn’t,” Eames gives Arthur a look, and Arthur relents “Fine I owed Christian a favour when he saved my ass when the Kinshasa job went wrong.” Arthur stretches his tired muscles, wishing this piece-of-crap of a hideout had hot water.

“Are you wounded?” Eames asks, his face concerned.

“I think it’s all surface, if it wasn’t I’d know right?” Arthur asks. He looks so young when he does, less self-assured and competent. Eames places a hand on Arthur’s cheek and a kiss on his head.

“I imagine so.”

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks, Anxious Arthur who can just be a tad too self-involved sometimes. Eames thinks that’s a consequence of overthinking. He forgives him for it.

“Oh, you know me, I’m indestructible.” Eames said offhandedly, Arthur’s mouth forms a fine line. “I’m alright Arthur, now go get showered, we can debrief after,” he touches the man on the shoulder, it’s supposed to be reassuring. Reassuring Arthur is as easy as building a house on a sand dune, but Eames has always strived for impossible things.

*****

Eames’ hair dries almost instantly in the heat. Arthur is sitting on an unforgiving metal chair at the edge of the window, half cast into the shadow. “All things considered I think that went rather well,” Arthur murmurs, now it’s Eames turn to be incredulous.

“We were getting chased by a gang who were getting chased by the police, they may even have been the Feds!” Eames grabs one of the warm bottles of water and chugs it. Arthur pulls out his laptop. He’s back to business.

“Let’s focus on what we know. There’s a killer. They’re making families watch the death of their loved ones before extracting the information of themselves from the families. It’s probably a two-man job. It’s close to breaking national news if the personal emails of the DA have anything to say about it.” Eames sees Arthur get more agitated.

“If it breaks as a story, it breaks as a story. First, the Feds/CIA/government whatever are not going to say anything about the extraction and PASIV to the public, it’s too useful a tool to let the average person know about. Secondly, if the Feds get called in we need to get to them before they do, if they don’t get killed in the process of being taken in, they might crack under investigation and reveal how we do extract and they could train dream defence contractors better.” Arthur shuts the laptop with a slap and rubs his face.

“What happened to being reassuring?”

“You opened your laptop, business isn’t reassuring.”

“We’ve been up for 48 hours, let’s go to bed and talk about it in the morning.” Arthur stands and walks into the smashed up windowless kitchen they’d been using as a bedroom.

“It’s 7pm, we haven’t even talked about what happened back there. Or eaten dinner.” All he feels is tired and grumpy.

“Do you want to fuck me or not Mr Eames?” Arthur calls from the kitchen/bed. Eames shuts up and follows Arthur.

*******

He’s not asleep when the phone rings at 2am, though he should be. Instead, he’s locked in a fierce reddit debate over whether the Empire and Sith Lords were _really_ that bad given there was a wider threat coming from outside the galaxy which the Death Star had to protect against. He thinks he’s almost won when the phone interrupts him and he loses his train of thought. “Hello?” he says tersely.

“Owie don’t shoot the messenger. We have a case hot off the press and the bossman wants us in pronto.” Spencer doesn’t understand how Garcia can be so _happy_ All. The. Freaking.Time.

“It’s 2am.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“I was sleeping.”

“Reddit arguments do not count as sleeping, and he’s besting you so it’s better you just drop it.”

“I… did you… are you hacking into my computer?!”

“What computer? I’m just here to tell you about a case.”

“Garcia!”

“Relax, I just know your reddit username. Anyway, get in here, now. I’ll put the coffee on!” she singsongs and hangs up. Grumbling, Spencer drops his phone on his desk. That’s the third account in 6 months she’s found, and he was getting attached to this one. He signs off and contemplates other usernames as he changes into his work clothes. He feels terrible.

He gets a taxi in because the trains don’t start until 5am, and when he gets into the office he finds they’re all still waiting on Emily. In the interim, sitting in the conference room, he sips coffee and continues his argument. In the time it’s taken him to travel into the BAU /u/MissingThePoint has managed to refute most of his explanations, which adds another spike in his already crappy day. He’s typing out a reply when Hotch’s voice brings him back to reality. “Are you finished?” Spencer looks at him, and guiltily puts his phone in his pocket. “Right let’s get started," they turn their attention to JJ and the screens at the front of the room.

“Thanks Hotch, okay we got a call from police in Chicago saying they’ve been hit with three homicides in the last five weeks. All the victims are men in their 30s to 50s, have brown hair, are between 5’8 and 6’0. They were found in their living rooms, chests cut open and the organs were removed while they were still alive.”

“Who found the bodies? The living room is a risky place to do something like that,” Rossi frowns.

“Well, this is where it gets weird. The victims families watched the whole thing-“

“Excuse me?” Emily interrupts JJ, “I, sorry. Go on.” Her hand covers her mouth.

“The victims families saw the attacks, but they don’t remember who did it.” JJ explains.

“So, they were wearing masks, big surprise.” Morgan shrugs, but his face looks disconcerted.

“The victims families can’t recall any masks being used by the unsub.”

“But then how can’t they identify him?” Spencer asks.

“They just said their memory is fuzzy, it’s like they want to remember but they can’t because it’s not there. This is how the police chief described it to me.”

“Collective memory loss like this, it doesn’t just happen, right Reid?” Morgan looks to Spencer. He takes a sip of his coffee and wracks his brain.

“I can’t think of any incidence like this where memory loss has occurred. There are cases of people supressing traumatic incidents, but those were individuals, and these people are all saying they saw the same thing and can’t recall the killer. It could be some special kind of coping mechanism. It’s unprecedented if it is, but it’s pretty unlikely.”

“Okay!” Hotch sighs, looking at them all “Wheels up in 30 minutes, and remember we’re going to build a profile, not speculate on psychological theories of trauma.”

The team disperse to collect their things. Spencer pulls out his phone and resumes his argument. He’s just about to post it when his battery dies. He stares at the black screen of his phone in disbelief, still trying to process the shock at the battery’s betrayal. “Fucking dammit,” he mutters, stuffs his phone in his pocket, and leaves for the plane.

*******

“Arthur, you’ve only had 5 hours sleep, and it’s 1am, put your phone away,” Eames mumbles sleepily.

“I woke up and got into an argument with someone, they say that the Empire in Star Wars was good because they were trying to defend against a bigger threat and- That’s my phone!” Arthur yells as Eames lifts a hand and tosses it across the floor out of Arthur’s grasp then half holds him to the floor.

“It’ll be there in the morning, go the fuck to sleep,” Eames murmurs. Arthur lies there half in disbelief. Under ordinary circumstances he wouldn’t object to being pinned under Eames. But this was different, he is trying to prove someone wrong!

“Well, they haven’t responded, I’ve probably won…” Arthur mutters to himself, before exhaustion takes him over once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry this took so long to update life has been hectic. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I apologise for grammar and spelling mistakes. Thanks for the kudos and comments so far, it is really appreciated, I didn't expect people to be on board with this. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds or Inception.

The hallway’s bright colours and geometric patterns suggests it was à la mode sometime in the early 90s. Reid glances at Morgan who shakes his head, “Nah, mid 80s at least,” and he shoves the keycard into the door.

The twin room is decorated as ostentatiously as the hallway, and the wifi is shit – according to Morgan, Reid’s phone is still out of action. It’s 6am and they have another 3 hours of sleep before they need to get to the station. “You gonna unpack first…?” Morgan trials off as Reid dumps his bag and faceplants the bed in the corner.

That would be a no.

*****

There’s a soft _flump_ at the back of his head. Reid pauses for a minute, the relaxes again into the warm pillow that’s soft like a marshmallow and like floating on a cloud...

_Flump._

Reid’s muscles become tense. It happened again. But he doesn’t know what it is.

“Reid, come on kid we’ll be late,” This time a borderline whinging voice and a sharp shake to his left shoulder jostle him. Reid’s eyes are glued shut with sleep, his brain not even half conscious… does he have a mouth? Is he really expected to respond to that?!

“’ive oar inute,” he mumbles into the pillow, feeling the panic that only presents itself when one is going to be imminently removed from their bed by necessity.

“You said that 10 minutes ago, come on get up,” Morgan says sharply. After a few moments Reid remembers how to wake up and sits up groggily in bed. He straightens his tie and shirt. After brushing his teeth they leave the hotel in silence. At least, Spencer _imagines_ it’s in silence because if Morgan is talking there is no way in hell he has noticed let alone listened. 

Reid remembers the teams tired faces in the hotel lobby, then being woken up by Rossi as the SUV arrives at the station. “Come on kid,” and Reid clumsily exits the vehicle.

“We found the third body, and thought we ought to call you in,” the police chief explains to Hotch, who shows no hint of tiredness. Reid glances at the rest of them, Rossi and JJ look professional as always, Morgan and Prentiss stifle yawns when they think no one is looking. “You can work from the conference room, we have all the files on the families, and the pictures of the victims. Also, officers Grandowski and Philips want to speak with you about a car chase they had the other day. The coffee station is over there,” he points to the kitchen at the other end of the rows of desks, and his face lingers on Reid before turning back to Hotch “If you need anything I will be at my desk until 2pm, then I start my rounds. I can be contacted by phone aftet then, and my Deputy - Walker - will be here. I’ll get her to introduce herself when she’s in.”

“Thank you, this is really appreciated.” Hotch replies.

“No problem, I just want the guy to be caught,” the Chief replies on his way out, giving the team one last look.

“Alright, Rossi and JJ go speak to the Anderson family, Prentiss and I will speak to the Mulgrew’s and whoever finishes first can speak to the Smiths. Morgan I want you to go through the case files, and Reid I want you to create a geographical profile of the victims, and if you finish that join Morgan in reviewing the case files.” Hotch orders, the team scatter. Reid stands awkwardly for a few moments. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, get some coffee and work,” Hotch mutters on his way out. Reid self-consciously flattens his hair and makes a beeline for the kettle.

*******

“Are you sure this is the right one?” Eames asks, squinting over the fence at the unremarkable 2 storey suburban house.

“I tracked everyone in the area who resembled the description of the dead guys, they were all killed in a 20 mile radius. This house was one of the ones.”

“How did you even-“

“I hacked the system, they have really good security though, I thought I was almost caught for a minute,” Arthur remarks cheerfully, as he scales the backyard fence like a cat. Eames stares after him, even though by now he knows he shouldn’t be surprised by Arthur.

“Wait,” Eames vaults with slightly less grace over the fence. “Is our plan really to go through all these houses until we find a body?” he asks, wiping grass stains off his trousers. Arthur, as immaculate as always, shrugs

 “Yeah, unless we find them in the act.”

“This is, hands down, the most half-baked thing I’ve ever done and I’ve done some stupid shit.”

“Until we get a lead it’s the best we’ve got, unless you have a better idea?” Arthur asks. His tone isn't remotely biting, instead he's looking at Eames with curiosity and the closest thing Arthur gets to a smile tugging on his lips.

“What if we had more information about the people who died, see if there’s more connecting them than just physical appearance? Right now we’re flirting with an arrest warrant and neighbourhood watch officers.”

“Okay we’ll do-“ Arthur’s voice breaks off, and Eames turns to see him looking through the kitchen window to the living room. There’s a body on the living room floor with it's organs removed. Next to him is a woman – who Eames assumes is his wife – and a small child, both are unconscious. “Shit. We need to leave.” Arthur tugs on Eames’ hand, but Eames doesn’t move.

“Wait. We could explore the house, gather more intel. They might be out for awhile,” Arthur looks uncertain. “Look, no cops are on their way yet, we could get more details on the family. We haven’t seen a crime scene yet,” Arthur’s face pales considerably, but he nods, his eyes taking a steely quality.

“Okay, 10 minutes no more.” He pulls out gloves for him and Eames, and Eames is as always bowled over by Arthur’s preparedness. The backdoor is unlocked and they get inside with ease. The smell of blood is overwhelming. While Eames goes straight to the family photos, Arthur looks over the son and the wife. Once he’s sure they’re breathing he joins Eames. “Do you see anything?” because to Arthur they just look like pictures of people. His heart is slamming in his chest.

“They went on a lot of holidays,” Eames murmurs, then walks up to one and points at the figures in it. “There’s a girl here, she’s in a couple of the others but the kid in there is a boy. He likes to kill them in front of the whole family so where is she?”

“Could be dead?” Arthur suggests. Eames shakes his head.

“Yeah, but… what if she’s a step daughter he still saw?” Eames asks.

“What if she is?” Eames sighs impatiently, Arthur who knows his way though algorithms and security systems like it’s a stroll in the park, can’t read people for shit.

“Well what if it’s some kind of personal vendetta?” Eames glances at Arthur, the younger man gives him a blank stare.

“I don’t follow.”

“… okay. Have you ever seen those daytime crime procedural dramas on TV, where a character gets killed because of some revenge plot by a mentally unstable villain who kills the person because they have past issues with someone which they reflect onto that victim?”

“Um… no?” he somehow makes it come out as a question, with genuine confusion reflected on his face.

“Well, what do you do when you’re hungover?” Arthur shrugs

“I go for a run, clean my flat, do laundry. Sometimes if I can’t think I play chess against the computer-“

“I’m really sorry I asked,” Eames says rubbing his forehead. “My point is what if the murderers are projecting their own relationship issues onto other people and acting out killing them?”

“I would say that sounds bullshit.”

“Yeah, but what is it isn’t?”

“But it is.”

“But what if it _isn’t_?” Eames asks again, and Arthur lets out a strangled laugh.

“Eames I swear to fuck this can’t be what is happening, because if it is it’s so batshit insan-“

“Mommy.” The voice is like shattering glass and both Eames and Arthur turn to face a small boy looking up at them. His eyes are big like dinner plates with nothing but fear filling them up. Eames looks to Arthur.

“Fuck.” They run back into the kitchen, open the door, and sprint across the back garden and over the wall. They end up back in the quiet little lane they had occupied no more than 15 minutes ago, and speed up it like it’s an Olympic track and they’re aiming for the gold.

When they’re a mile away Arthur stops, and staggers to the ground. The creek rushes past them, and birds chirp in the branches. “This is insane,” he says hoarsely, his throat bone dry from running in the heat.

“Marchbrook owes me a favour after this.”

“Think the kid will tell the cops?” Arthur asks.

“Tell them about the 2 strange men in his house while his daddy is lying hung drawn and quartered in the living room? God yes.”

“We’re fucked.”

“I know. Look, I think we need to reconsider our whole approach. We can go back to the hideout and work things out from there.” Arthur’s brow knits together.

“Alright,” He stands shakily. "I still think your theory is bullshit."

"And I am convinced I'm right."

"In that case I will work on it only to prove you wrong."

Despite everything they grin at each other and walk in silence down the quiet lane, and back to their parked car.

*******

“Morgan, I think I’ve found something.” Reid’s head is clearer now there is coffee in in system, though he can tell he’s only running on half capacity. Kind of like his phone battery – which is on 48%.

“What’s that?”

“All the killings took place within a 20 mile radius, all within suburban middle class houses.”

“That’s nice,” Morgan says absentmindedly “All the victims were divorced and re-married,” Morgan murmurs, his voice tired.

"That's nice," Reid mutters, putting another pin in the map.

A knock at the door draws them out of their thoughts.

“Excuse me, I know you’re busy but my partner and I need to speak to you. I'm Grandowski, this is Philips” two officers stand at the door, looking somewhat nervous.

“Sure, is it about the case?” Morgan asks, suddenly alert, pushing the file aside and gesturing for the two men to sit down. Reid turns away from the profile and sits on one of the free chairs.

“Sort of, I think. The other day we were chasing a known gang through the south of the city. We noticed they were chasing two men and- there was a gun fight between the two and we weren’t sure whether these two guys would be like the guys you’re looking for.” Philips nods in agreement.

“Um, what evidence do you have to suggest the two men might be the unsub?”

“They were driving a black sedan, and in each of the neighbourhood’s of the killing a black sedan was seen. Two of the three have it as having the same licence plate. Of course, the car was totalled in the gun fight so they’re probably using another car now. It was left in a football stadium, it took awhile to find because at first the security there thought it had just been smashed by disgruntled fans."

“Does this stadium have CCTV? Morgan asks, excitement sparking in his chest that the case may be over sooner than they had anticipated.

“No they don’t, it was a security patrol.” Reid moved back to the map.

“Where is the stadium?” he asks, the Philips stands and points to it on the map, Grandowski still does the talking for them both.

“About 50 minutes away from here, near a bunch of warehouses and closed down factories, there’s not much that side of town.” Reid nods, not sure what to do with the information.

“Can we look at the car?” Reid asks.

“Yeah, it’s still in the space, it was only called in last night but given the circumstances it’s under evidence so… yeah that would probably be fine. I’ll call ahead and check." Grandowski says clumsily. 

“Okay, thanks for telling us,” Morgan says.

“No problem, glad we could help,” the two officers leave, and Reid sits back down in the chair.

“You think we’re working with two unsubs?”

“It makes sense, I guess? We still don’t know how the family have memory loss but one could be doing the killing while the other… acts as a look out? Removing organs probably takes awhile even with a good knowledge of anatomy.” Morgan nods then slumps his face into his hands.

“I feel too tired to think.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I think we should try and look out this abandoned car,” Morgan stands and stretches.

“Should we tell Hotch?” Morgan shrugs.

“It’ll be fine, we’ll be back before they are,” he grabs his jacket and heads towards the desks near the door. Reid has a sense of foreboding in his stomach. He grabs his phone (now with 56% battery) and hurries worriedly after Morgan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry it's been awhile since I updated. I'm amazed at the feedback this story has gotten, thank you for all the comments and kudos. I hope you like this chapter, I wrote it rather quickly and I'm also really tired so I'm sorry if there are grammar and or spelling mistakes. Also I know all of the characters are OOC, Hotch especially, but this supposed to be a parody anyway.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds or Inception.

“Hello, what would you like today?” the college aged cashier smiles at them.

“Morgan we really don’t have time for this,” Spencer says edgily.

“Reid it’s fine! Besides I didn’t have coffee at the Station. I’ll have a venti latte with caramel sauce.” Morgan tells the cashier.

“You might as well have a… snickers and eat coffee beans, or a tiramisu!” Spencer splutters. Morgan waves his hand lazily. The cashier smiles at their argument.

“I don’t care Reid, it wakes me up!”

“That’ll be $3.50.” the cashier interrupts

“Sweet! It’s cheaper here than Quantico, thanks!” Morgan hands over the money.

“Thank you have a nice day!” she smiles at them as they shuffle down the bar to wait for Morgan’s drink.

“So, you think this car might actually be a lead?” Reid asks.

“I honestly don’t care, I just want coffee. How is life outside work?”

“Hmm, not too bad, I finished my sociology BA, I’m not gonna go back to college. I’m kinda bored with it. What about you?”

“Congrats, I guess… I’m thinking of moving- not job! Just my current apartment has this problem with my neighbours who play music at 11pm. I mean yeah, I get it, I was a student too but it’s keeping me awake. I tried talking to them and they TP’d my car and sprayed ‘loser old man’ on my door. I couldn’t prove it was them. I’m not a loser old man I’m an adult with a job, jeez!”

“Sure, whatever you say old man, you just can’t party with the kids,” Spencer mimes dance moves before tripping over a chair and falling to the floor. “Awww fuck.”

“That’s what you get. Anyway, my coffee’s here, let’s go Spencer.” Peeling himself off the floor and apologising to the woman he nearly crushed Reid hurries after Morgan into the afternoon sun. “You okay to drive?” Morgan asks as he gets in the passenger side.

“What?!”

“Well I can’t drive with coffee, it’ll get cold, and it almost cost me 5 bucks.” Grumbling Reid enters the drivers side, not _entirely_ sure that he’s safe to drive and they head off.

“How far away is the stadium again?” Reid asks, because even though he has an eidetic memory, he has crippling selective hearing. (And no, the FBI medical team did not count that as a legitimate condition).

“60 minutes,” Morgan says, configuring the satnav.

“I thought they said 50 minutes.”

“Yeah, but the Starbucks was 10 minutes the other way.” Morgan says, placing the satnav back on the hot dash. Spencer lets out a strangled cry before heading off, as Morgan sips happily on his coffee.

*******

“I swear to God Arthur I left it in the car!” Arthur looks unimpressed.

“I’m not going.”

“I swear on my mother’s life I left it in that car!” Eames said frustratedly, a slight rasp to his breathing. It’s the rasp that does it, even though Arthur isn’t sure whether he’s putting it on.

“Fine. We’ll go.” Arthur stands, stretches, and grabs his gun. Trust Eames to leave his inhaler in the car. In fact, trust Eames of all people to _need_ an inhaler. They walk outside.

“It should be in the dash,” Eames says optimistically as the sun beats down on them.

“Will the car park be open?” Arthur asks, squinting in the sun.

“I don’t know,” Arthur gives out an exaggerated sigh and Eames throws an arm around him.

“Oh darling! It’s not all bad!” before he can peck Arthur on the cheek the younger man has wrestled himself free. It’s then Eames notices the mistrustful looks from the patrons of a bar across the street that has undoubtedly never seen better days. He lets his arm drop from Arthur’s shoulder and strolls along at a distance.

The heat beats down on them and soon both men are drenched in sweat. “I don’t remember it being this far,” Arthur comments, his brow furrowing.

“We were high on adrenaline.” Eames says rolling up his sleeves and loosening his collar. “It’s just a few more minutes up here, I recognise that bar.”

“You would,” Arthur quips, but he secretly hopes Eames is right.

He is.

The stadium stands eerily quiet, the whole street is though it’s a Sunday after a game. Clean up wouldn’t start until Monday. They walk up the street, past a solitary green car that looks as though it’s been there for years and Arthur dimly acknowledges just how tired his feet are. Empty beer cans blow past them, and occasionally, a scarf or some kind of memorabilia of the losing team. When they get to the iron gates Arthur almost considers asking Eames if they can grab a beer before continuing, he’s not sure he could out run a security guard. He stops himself only because without his inhaler Eames couldn't out run a pug.

Eames tries the gate, it’s locked. Without hesitating he pulls out a bobby pin and starts twisting it in the lock. After five seconds or so it gives and they step into the forgiving shade of the car park. Their footsteps echo slightly as they walk purposely towards the black, shot out car in the centre of the room. Eames brushes away the broken glass, and opens the glove compartment to find his inhaler “Yes!” he raises it in the air in triumph before using it liberally.

“Uh Eames?”

“Hmm mm?” he takes a deep breath, his lungs gloriously breathing in the air without restriction. “I’m trying to breathe Arthur.”

“Eames we’re not alone, there’s a man running towards us.” Arthur says with an air of utmost calm.

*******

“It’s locked,” Spencer says grumpily. Morgan sighs, throws his empty coffee cup in the bin and pushes past Reid, producing a bobby pin from his back pocket. “Why do you even carry them with you?”

“You never know when you might illegally for legal purposes have to break in somewhere,” Morgan shrugs. Within 10 seconds the lock gives way.

“I don’t like this Morgan, it’s not legal,” Spencer says uneasily. It was one thing defying Hotch’s orders to check something that, quite frankly probably had little to do with the case at hand. It was a whole other thing to break into a football stadium.

“Look… we’re cops… we have… we can…” Morgan stares blankly into the street for a few minutes before turning back to Reid. “Okay, yeah it’s illegal and we probably shouldn’t do it which is why we’re going to be quick okay? I’ll buy you a beer. God were you this much of a stick in the mud in college?”

“I was 12 in college, what do you think? And it’s not being a ‘stick in the mud’. I’m pointing out that this is illegal.”

“Yeah, and you have nothing wrong with doing something illegal when you want it.”

“Are you really going to stoop that low to win an argument?” Reid asks as they enter the parking lot.

“What? Like the time you parked on double yellow lines to get a coffee because you were tired? Or the time that you flashed your police badge to get free coffee at that gas station?”

“Nevermind.” Reid marches ahead, Morgan trails after him, wracking his brains.

“Oh wait! You were thinking of the Tobias drug stuff!” he exclaims.

“Do you have to yell it so loudly?”

“I didn’t mean that… although that is a case in which you…” he stops at Reid glower.

“I value your friendship Morgan and I want to keep valuing it.”

“Duly noted.” They continue in silence.

The parking lot has two sides, and Morgan and Reid stare at both directions like Hansel and Gretel at a fork in the road. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Reid notes “I’ll take West.”

“I’ll take East then.” Morgan replies, “Call if you need anything.”

“Likewise.” 

Morgan searches the East side of the parking lot. Apart from a few empty cars – some black, some not - none seem to fit the description the two officers had given. It occures to him that they hadn’t asked which side of the parking lot the car was in. Morgan checks his phone, no signal. “Goddamn it!”

He takes a step and kicks an empty metal can a couple of feet away from him. The noise is unsettling in all the quiet. A few more steps forward he thinks he hears yelling coming from the otherside of the car park. “Hmm, shit that’s where Reid is,” Morgan runs towards the source of the noise. As he runs he gets a stich in his side, and it gets worse the further he runs.

“Morgan, help!” he hears distantly.

“Aw fuck Reid, ow!” Morgan mutters, clutching his side and trying to run faster “Damn coffee!”

*****

Reid sullenly walks through the parking lot. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants it to be the end of the day so he can sleep and not think about unsubs. There are few cars parked, and when he inspects them he finds that none of them seem to resemble the car the officers described. He wonders if perhaps the two officers were just fucking with them, normally he can gauge the atmosphere of the police department they walk into, but this time he was too tired.

He's just about to give up when a flash in the corner of his eye catches his attention. Turning his head to the left he sees another section of the parking lot, a black car with bullet holes, all its windows shot in, and two men standing in front of it. One appears to be holding something.

Before he can stop himself, Reid starts hurrying towards the men. Some part of his brain tells him this is a bad idea. The other half is convinced he can catch the men and at least chat to them. Later he will seriously question his logic. The one holding something is tall, broad shouldered and blonde, in a thin cotton shirt. The other man is smaller, and in a full suit with a stoicism that could rival Hotch’s.

“Mate, look we don’t want to hurt you but you gotta stop running-“ Eames cuts himself off as Arthur lunges forward, punches Reid in the stomach, twists his arm around his back and disarms him. Eames sighs “Nevermind.”

“Who are you?” Arthur asks tersely.

“Police.”

“And you’re stupid enough to run after two blokes examining a destroyed car without backup?” Eames asks incredulously.

“I just want to talk with you.” Reid says nervously, regret washing through him. Damn, maybe he is too tired. The two men exchange a look. "Morgan help!" Reid calls.

"Oh great he has back up." The English man comments, walking away from the car.

“Well we can’t talk here.” Arthur says hauling Reid to his feet. Despite being a similar stature, the suited man has Reid in a vice like grip he has no hope of breaking.

“Oh look, your friend is coming.” The blond man – who Reid realises must be English based on the accent – comments in a bored tone. “Right let’s go!” he says with an enthusiasm which suggests they’re about to go on a merry hike. Reid feels the distinct pressure of a gun to his back as they rush towards the exit, the blond man speeding ahead.

“Morgan!” Reid yells.

“I have a stitch, you were right about the coffee!” Morgan’s voice calls from too far away.

Reid is shoved out onto the blinding street, and it disorientates him enough to allow the suited man to grab hold of him again. Soon Reid realises he’s being led towards the only car in the street, which the blond man is trying to hotwire. It roars to life as he’s put into the back seat of the car. Reid turns frantically to see Morgan leave the parking lot before the car races off. “Where are you taking me?” he asks the stoic man.

“You’ll find out, give me your phone.” He points Reid’s gun at him. Sighing Reid hands it over.

“I thought you wanted to talk.” The man slips it into his back pocket. When he’s distracted Reid lunges forward to grab the gun. He almost gets it, but an iron strong arm pushes him back against the window. Reid struggles against him, kicking the man.

“We do but you’re not - cooperating!” the man struggles as the gun is thrown into the passenger seat and they start to fight in the back.

“Why – would – I? You’re – kidnapping - me!” They yell at each other through blows. Just when Reid thinks he has the upper hand - having backed the suited man to the corner behind the drivers seat and leaning over him – the man produces another gun. “Motherfucker-“ Reid mutters before the world goes black.

Arthur pants heavily, fixing his tie and smoothing his hair back in place. “Hmmm he almost had you there darling, you’re getting rusty.” Eames tuts.

“I let him do that.”

“Sure you did.” Eames says sweetly. “What’s his name?”

“... Dr Spencer Reid, hmmm, looks a little young to be a doctor. I’ll investigate him when we get back.” Arthur replies after rifling through his pockets. “And... Oh. Oh, shit.”

“What?” Eames asks, panic lacing his voice.

“This guy isn’t a plain clothes cop, he’s FBI. We- we just kidnapped an FBI agent…” Arthur sits back, panic brews in his chest as he stares at the unconcious man in the back seat.

“HA!”

“This isn’t funny Eames!”

“It was a nervous laugh! What’s… his friend, he clocked the car we’re going to have to ditch it.”

“How far are we from the hideout?”

“Far, I avoided it, we need to ditch this car.”

“Fuck, first that kid catches us, now we’ve kidnapped an agent… do you think we’re being set up?” Arthur muses.

“Honestly?” Eames asks, slowing the car to a stop and unbuckling his seat belt “I think we’re just out of our depth and incompetent – at this catching bad guy stuff anyway.” Eames adds hastily as Arthur opens his mouth to object. “Come on, we can push the car into the river.”

“In broad daylight?”

“There’s no people or CCTV around, I did check.” Sighing Arthur drags Reid’s body out of the car and into one further down the street that Eames unlocks. He helps Eames push the car into the river, and they watch it sink. “Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this… we might need new names first.” Arthur sighs and grabs Eames’ hand. It’s comforting to stand there for a moment by the river bank, sheltered between storage crates.

“As long as we’re together,” he mutters. They watch the car float to the bottom of the river, Arthur's head resting on Eames' shoulder.

“As much as I'm enjoying our little moment we should probably make sure sleeping beauty hasn’t woken up. Also, don’t panic, but I'm not sure if that boat over there can see us.” Eames says quietly, kissing Arthur on the head. “And hey,” he says, smiling at Arthur as they walk back to the car “If we go to jail you can be my prison bitch.”

“I’m not being your prison bitch Eames.”

“That’s Mr Eames to you, bitch.” He counters as they step into the car. Arthur doesn’t respond, but there’s a small smile on his face.

*******

They walk down the driveway to the SUV.

“That was…” Emily started

“Pretty unhelpful?” Hotch counters.

“Yup.” They climb in.

“I didn’t actually think people would have no memory…” Hotch says leaning back in the seat closing his eyes. The car is warm and stuffy in the afternoon heat.

“You tired?”

“We all are, I should have given us a half day… I want a half day.” 

“Well you’re the boss,” Emily shrugs and stretches. A small grin graces Hotch’s face.

“Oh yeah! I am! Okay, we’re taking a half day. None of us are working our best.”

“Yes! Afternoon nap!” Emily grins and for a second it’s like they’re young again and he is her security detail. Emily starts the car and they leave the neighbourhood. Before he can call Rossi, Aaron’s phone rings. It’s Morgan.

“Hotchner, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Reid, he’s been kidnapped.” Morgan pants down the phone. Hotch’s eyes widen.

“Are you kidding me?” he blurts out, while Emily throws him a confused look.

“No.”

“Okay, meet us back at the station, I’ll tell Rossi and JJ.” Aaron hangs up, and searches for Rossi in his contacts.

“What’s wrong? I thought we were going back for sleep?” Emily asks.

“Reid has been kidnapped. Again.” He replies, letting his head rest back on the seat.

“Why does this keep happening to him? Is he cursed?” Emily asks.

“Probably,” Hotch sighs, as Emily races back towards the station.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for taking so long to update, and thank you for the comments and kudos they mean a lot :). I'm having a lot of fun writing this, have no idea how much longer it has to go. This chapter has some graphic violence in it, I know it's in the tag but I thought I'd warn people here too. I'm aware Hotch is OOC in this chapter, my reasoning was the team are extremely sleep deprived, and they need sleep in order to do their job regardless of how urgent it is. Anyway I hope you enjoy and I'm sorry for any grammar and or spelling mistakes.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds or Inception

Rough floorboards, wrists in rope, and a dim 40watt bulb shining over him. The faint smell of old pine wood, varnish and hay lingers in the air, but it is almost completely overwhelmed by the repugnant smell of burning fish guts. Charles stands before him “Confess.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Spencer splutters. Out of all the times he’s re-lived this scenario, he’s never been able to sound brave.

“Confess. The longer the wait, the worse the devil's gonna make you suffer.” Charles spits out. Spencer says nothing, and Charles’ frown deepens as he grabs the wooden plank resting on the rotten barrel. “I warned ya.”

Pain explodes up his leg, and his bad knee twinges angrily. This sparks something small in Spencer’s brain. He shouldn’t know about his bad knee. He shouldn’t have even hurt his knee. “That was two years after,” he mutters, before letting out another howl.

“Quit mutterin’ to yerself boy and confess!” Charles screams with zeal.

“No, you’re not real!” Spencer screams, and at this Charles smiles and cocks his head.

“This feel real to you?” the plank hits with such force that Spencer thinks, for a minute, that his leg might be broken.

“Y- y- you’re hitting me-“

“It’s okay.” He’s cut off by a voice as soft as a teddy bear, that stalks his nightmares in the darkest of winters. “This will help,” and Spencer struggles away, but it’s hard when you’re tied to a chair. The dilauded feels real like the plank to his foot.

“It’s not real.”

“Shhhhh, we don’t have long.” Tobias mutters.

“It’s not real.” Why is he saying it’s not real? He knows it isn’t real but he just can’t remember what _it_ is…

“You’re nothing but a junkie just like my son!” the firecracker voice is back, but to Spencer it sounds oddly muffled. Upwards, he raises the plank, downwards it strikes his foot. It strikes on his bad leg but but…

“I don’t have a bad leg yet… shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have a bad leg! This isn’t real, this can’t be real… is this a dream?” Spencer asks. As he does the figure of Charles starts to glitch and fade, roaring in anger as it learns it can no longer interact with the world around it.

“Con- fess -fess Con- -ss” it stutters. The ropes fall away from Spencer but he finds he can’t get up.

“Well, I’m impressed. That was what? It only took seven minutes of dream time for a rookie to work it out?” a man in a white shirt, and grey slacks walks forward. His face is pointed, his hair slicked back to the point of severity, and his eyes are smiling a predatory smile.

“Oh, Arthur darling this is marvellous.” A broader man with sandy blonde hair and a dress sense so bizarre that Spencer momentarily forgets where he is, or more precisely, the fact that he has no fucking idea where he is. Spencer pauses for a second and remembers the two men as the one’s who were in the parking lot.

“All logic tells me that you can’t be angels, yet… Did, am I having a near death experience?” Spencer asks with genuine concern and panic. “I thought it was a dream, and frankly I don’t believe in angels, or that they’d dress like… that” he says nodding to Flamingo Shirt.

“I told you.” Grey Slacks tells flamingo shirt. “There is no appropriate time to wear that shirt.”

“But _that_ is what makes it so appropriate!” replies Flamingo Shirt.

“Hello? Who the fuck are you guys?” Spencer tries to ask, but Grey Slacks shakes his head.

“No darling, the important question is who are _you_?” Flamingo Shirt grins like a shark, and Spencer finds himself missing the snake like gleam of Grey Slacks.

“My name is Spencer Reid, I’m an FBI agent.”

“Spencer, lovely to meet you.” Flamingo Shirt conjures a chair from no where and sits down opposite.

“H- how did you do that?” the tiny cabin shakes violently.

“I thought about it, so I made it appear.”

“But… that defies the law of physics… one of my PhD’s is in Physics, this is impossible… am I dead?” the cabin gives another violent lurch.

“Not dead… You said it earlier.” Grey Slacks offers like a patient teacher.

“I… I am dreaming?”

“Exactly!” Flamingo Shirt booms. The small cabin starts to shudder as though it’s in a hurricane. Paint cans and rusty tools fly off the walls, the fish guts fall to the floor. “Whoa Spencer, you’re okay, calm down, you’re okay.” Grey Slacks rushes forward to reassure him.

“What the fuck is this?!” Spencer screams. This was worse than any of his nightmares before. This was just… bizarre. “I want to wake up now!” he screams. A hacksaw flies through the air, and Spencer hears a shriek.

“Fuck!” he looks to see the hacksaw launched into Grey Slacks shoulder, blood spurting out of it.

“Arthur it’s okay.” Flamingo Shirt doesn’t seem remotely phased. It’s almost like this is a daily occurrence.

“Just fucking do it Eames, I hate shooting myself.” Arthur yells over the ruckus of the tiny shed tearing itself apart. A gun appears in Flamingo Shirt’s hand, and Spencer barely cries out before a bullet goes into Grey Slacks head.

“No no no no what the fuck?!” Spencer screams, then, before his eyes, the body of Grey Slacks disappears.

“Spencer, it’s time to go home.” Flamingo Shirt raises the gun to his head. It isn’t roulette this time. The bang is the last thing he hears.

*******

“How long has he been missing?” the police chief asks. Hotch looks to Morgan.

“About 2 hours, he was taken by two men who were at the black smashed up car in the parking lot of the football stadium.”

“What colour car did the drive away in?” the Chief asks, concern knitting his face.

“A green one, it was out on the street. I wasn’t fast enough to run after them.” Morgan omits the part about the stitch and the coffee, but the guilt gnaws on him.

“Can you describe the men?”

“They were medium height, one was blond, broad and hi-jacked the car. The other was brown haired and wore a suit. They drove West I think, up Delaware Street.” Morgan says struggling to remember.

“All right, we’ll have our men search. Do you think these men could be related to the murders?”  the Chief asked.

“Well,” and Morgan bites the bullet, because Hotch would want to know why they were out there in the first place. Morgan can feel his eyes bore into him like a pneumatic drill. “Two of your men tipped us off about the car. They said it was found in 2 of the 3 crime scenes, licence plate checked out. They wanted us to check out the car so we did.” The Chief nods.

“I’ll get my men to it.” He offers a warm look to Morgan, and a wary one to Hotch before leaving. _Yeah, he knows fine well I’m about to get my ass handed to me._ Morgan thinks glumly, happy for the moment of solidary shared in the glance.

“Morgan, I’d like a word in the conference room. Now!” Hotch hisses.

The door barely has time to close before “What the hell were you thinking?!” Morgan jumps, Hotch isn’t one for yelling.

“We didn’t think it was anything-“

“If you have _any_ inkling that you’re about to engage with an Unsub you run it through me or Rossi and you go in with back up!”

“I hardly expected him to go get himself kidnapped!” Morgan yells back, because screw it he’s tired, he’s overworked, and he wants his bed.

“I know that Morgan.” Hotch says quieter, his voice more controlled. “Christ.” He collapses into a chair. “I’m tired too.” They sit in silence for a few moments, Morgan eyes Hotch nervously. “This is a complete shit show.”

“I know.” Morgan tries to blend in with the wall behind him as Hotch seems to be thinking.

“Okay, the team has the rest of the day off. Even if another murder comes up, we need rest.”

“We need to find Spencer!” it’s out before he can stop himself. Hotch looks up lightening fast.

“Do you honestly think we’re going to find him as tired as we are? The police here are working on it, we go to bed and sleep, and we wake up tomorrow fresh.” Morgan looks hesitant, knowing the rest of the team will object, but also knowing it’s the right call.

“Okay.” He says, but he doubts he’ll sleep well.

The rest of the team aren’t happy, but none of them have it in them to complain. “We’ll look out for him.” The Deputy promises as they trudge wearily back to the hotel.

Contrary to what Morgan thought, he sleeps like a baby.

*******

Even in his lowest days, when his dilauded addition strung him along like a puppet, Spencer Reid never expected to wake up in a dilapidated apartment, sitting on a ruined sofa, with two men staring at him and an IV coming out of his arm and into a silver box between them. One is Flamingo Shirt, the other is Grey Slacks. “What the hell is going on?”

“That, Spencer, was a dream.” Flamingo Shirt says grandly. Spencer looks at him dumbfounded.

“The military created technology to allow people to go into dreams. It was used to train soldiers. Obviously, they couldn’t hide technology so valuable, and it was stolen by interested parties who wanted to use it for their own gain. Thus, the world of extraction was born, where businesses can steal rivals ideas without evidence for a court case, a heart broken lover can have the memories of their loved one erased, a scorned lover can get information on their cheating ex. No information is private if you have the right price.” Flamingo Shirt says in a comical salesman voice.

“You’re making us out to be two-bit crooks.” Grey Slacks crosses his arms across his chest.

“I, well, but… that’s what you are isn’t it?” Spencer splutters.

“I prefer the term career criminal.” Grey Slacks sighs, and packs up the silver case.

“You guys knocked me out, put me through some weird mind torture, and now I’m tied to a chair.” Spencer struggles against the rope binds.

“No, we went into _your_ dream. You created that… whatever the hell that was.” Flamingo Shirt waves his hand lazily towards Spencer.

“I’ve been kidnapped before.” Spencer mutters, expecting them to mock him.

“Only twice? I’ve been kidnapped at least 5 times, last time was great. I played checkers and got drunk with my cell guard before I shot him in the head.” The blond man says in a tone that suggests he’s talking about a great party rather than murder.

“Oh, you’re not kidnapped.” Grey Slacks says, returning to sit opposite Spencer. Reid does a double take.

“What? I’m tied to a chair?!”

“Well, think of it this way. If our positions were reversed would you let us wander about without handcuffs?” Flamingo Shirt asks. Spencer doesn’t think they should be walking around civilised society anyway, but he keeps that to himself.

“No,” he says feeling like a petulant child.

“However, if you were to behave, and I remind you that my friend and I are armed, we would untie you and offer you a cup of tea. Do you want tea?” Spencer thinks his brain is shutting down, he can’t deal with this. Maybe he finally snapped and is in a mental asylum somewhere, in a room with padded walls. It’s the only thing that can explain these two impossible men.

“Okay?” he says, wondering why they haven’t snapped and are yelling at him, or the first him.

“Arthur be a dear and pop the kettle on,” Flamingo Shirt says to Grey Slacks, who Spencer finally associates as Arthur.

“You hate it when I make you tea,” Arthur grumbles, but heads towards the kitchen anyway. Flamingo Shirt moves to untie Spencer, when his wrists are free Spencer rubs them slowly.

“What’s your name?”

“Eames,” Flamingo Shirt replies, sitting back down.

“Eames? As in the chair?”

“Yes.”

“Why Eames? It’s obviously not your real name,” Spencer says disapprovingly.

“Well say I extract from someone, and say they remember my name. It’s hard enough to convince someone that people have been rooting in their head because they have ‘special’ knowledge. It’s even harder when the only person they remember is called ‘Eames’.”

“The story changes every time you tell it.” Arthur says, handing Eames a mug of tea. "Face it, you were nervous, and the first thing you blurted out was the make of that stupid chair. Milk and sugar?” he asks Reid, as Eames looks as though he's about to object.

“Uh… 2 sugars and lots of milk,” Reid says surprised. “Why did you… bring me here?” Kidnapped appeared to be the wrong word.

“We told you about extraction, and we showed you a dream… your dream was more traumatic than most. Most people dream about a promenade in Paris.” Eames says awkwardly.

“I’m sorry my PTSD was inconvenient for your example,” Reid says calmly, taking a mug of tea from Arthur as Eames chokes on his own tea.

“The people you are looking for kill the father of the family in front of their family members, before extracting those memories from the victims using the PASIV technology we showed you. We were put up to this by two of our colleagues, if the FBI – you guys – were to get your hands on this technology then our business would be over, the law enforcement would know everything.” Arthur says while Eames nods gravely.

“And that’s a bad thing? Hello! I’m FBI, that’s not a bad thing to me! You could extract confessions, find at risk offenders and prevent them fro- Oh I see where you’re going with this… that’s like Minority Report isn’t it?”

“It’s not just Minority Report. You can also plant an idea in someone’s head, it doesn’t always work, but with the right ingredients the idea will flourish and it will fundamentally change a person. Think what that could do in the wrong hands? It doesn’t work in the extraction industry as it takes too many resources, most businesses won’t funnel money into it, it’s cheaper to extract. A government on the other hand? A government pursuing a terrorist agenda? Well, they would have the time and the resources to incept people. Suddenly, anyone they want to be an offender is one… you see where I’m going with this? That’s why it’s vital we get to them before your FBI team.” Eames pauses, sipping his tea and looking for Reid’s response.

Reid doesn’t have one. Instead he stares ahead of them towards the moulding wall. He was right, he’s in purgatory. He must be. Some sort of steep questioning of his values. “You guys are illegal. I work for the government, you can’t put me in this position.”

“Well, we have.” Arthur shrugs, despite the tea Reid feels tired. “Come on Spencer, you’re smarter than this, you have 5 degrees.”

“How do you know that?”

“I hacked you, I suggest you get a better firewall.” Arthur shrugs.

“You’re talking about privacy and then you hack me?!”

“Privacy of the mind Spencer, not privacy of the PC.” Arthur stands and stretches.

“Well, can I sleep on this?”

“Of course! You can even sneak away if you’d like. We’d be gone before you got back, and let’s face it who is going to believe what we told you?” Eames says, grinning fiercely.

“I don’t want to leave, I just need to get some sleep before I make a deal.” Reid replies, smiling coldly.

"Certainly." Eames replies, and he shows Reid to the sleepbag that will be his bed. As he lies down on the blankets the PASIV shines promisingly in the corner. His moral conscious twinges, because he knows he should hand it in. He also knows he thirsts for the PASIV knowledge more. He can live with that, he thinks.

*

“Eames, what if he’s lying about making a deal?” Arthur wrings his wrists, while Eames puts his arms around him.

“Then he’s lying, and we make our escape. It’s all we can do.” Eames shrugs, kissing Arthur on the head.

“He seemed genuinely interested in the PASIV technology… and it’s better the government don’t have it. I’ve seen what the military did with it, if that extended to the FBI or CIA…”

“Why did they never pick up the program?” Eames asks curiously.

“Oh, they did, they’ve just never caught an extractor alive to share the secrets, but this would be handing it to them on a silver platter.” Arthur says glumly as Eames takes him in his arms.

“Then we won’t let them.” He says simply, rocking Arthur gently.

Reid watches from his makeshift bed, trying not to make a noise. He doesn’t know how long he’s slept for, but he feels more refreshed that he has in days, even if he’s staying in a biohazard of an apartment. He stretches, kicking a piece debris loudly into the wall. Eames and Arthur look around. "Morning," Eames says happily, still holding Arthur in his arms. 

"I'm ready to make a deal." Reid says feeling less certain than he sounds.

"Excellent, Arthur pop the kettle on."

"For the last time Eames I'm not your housewife!" although Arthur goes to make the tea.

"Sure you aren't dear."

In ten minutes they're seated in the same places they were 10 hours prior.

“Why type of deal is this?” Eames asks, a gleam in his eye. Arthur, by contrast, looks more reserved.

“Teach me about dreaming, and I’ll help you find the killer. Then let me go and don’t kill me. Extract the information from the killer’s heads, then hand them over to the FBI. Your dream technology is safe, and I don’t have to have a moral crisis on my hands.” Eames considers this, looking at Arthur. Spencer can see the two men having a silent conversation, but he doesn't speak their language.

"Deal." Arthur says quietly, and the three men shake hands. Spencer smiles though worry gnaws on his mind like a puppy with a chew toy. He wonders if he's just made a deal with the devil.

 


End file.
